Broken Wing
by the-singular-peep
Summary: When the door opened, Bruce was expecting to see an ornery Damian waltz in, ready to be lectured. What he did not expect was a soaking wet and bloody Nightwing, looking nothing but utterly broken. [NIGHTWING 93. SEE NOTES AT TOP. TW FOR RAPE MENTION. ONE-SHOT. COMPLETE. RATED T FOR TALKING OF SEXUAL ABUSE A CHARACTER HAS GONE THROUGH.]


_**NOTES:**_ **I, personally, am a survivor of sexual abuse. That being said, seeing talk about Nightwing 93 hit really close to home. What hurt even worse, though, was seeing how, at the time, most people didn't see Dick's rape as a problem. It definitely was a problem. Nothing can excuse that.**

 **I wrote this just to illuminate that something like that** _ **would**_ **have a major impact on a person. Even someone as strong as Nightwing.**

 **The rape scene is referred to in this, but it isn't explicitly stated. Please note that writing this is a step to me healing. Thank you 3**

 _Broken Wing_

When Dick walked into the Manor, he was quiet.

Now, when the boy came home from missions - if he ever decided to return to Wayne Manor rather than stay in Bludhaven, that is - he was usually quiet. But this - this was almost _abnormal._

He was soaked to the bone, Bruce noticed, with sweat and rain both. And he was shivering, but as he looked closer, Bruce highly doubted it was because of the rain.

Bruce, having a rare night off, had been in the kitchen, sitting at the large table and going over paperwork. He had heard the door creak open, and, expecting Damian to come waltzing in after so suddenly sneaking out that evening, prepared to give a lecture. He stood and walked to the entryway of the kitchen, but stopped suddenly.

Nightwing.

Dripping with rain.

Dripping with _blood._

There was something else, too, Bruce noted. Something in his demeanor, or maybe his posture - Whatever it was, something wasn't right.

"...Dick?" Bruce said softly, leaning out from the kitchen

He didn't miss the way Dick flinched.

"Dick, is everything alright? Why aren't you at home?" Bruce said again, referring to Dick's apartment in Bludhaven. Dick tensed up then, and Bruce didn't miss the way his breath caught, either.

"Can't." Dick whispered, his voice hoarse as if he'd been screaming. He took a step forward on shaky legs, and Bruce took note of the tear that had escaped and was now rolling down his oldest son's cheek.

From what Bruce could tell, his son was having a panic attack - either that, or just recovering from one. He sighed. His boy was just… too _small_ to have to deal with that. Yes, he knew Dick was his oldest. He knew Dick had been fighting crime since he was nine, and that he was stronger than most men could ever hope to be. He knew Dick had helped him raise three little Robins even though he was still just a little bird himself.

But that didn't mean anything, because to Bruce, the man standing in front of him was still the tiny, scared eight year old who would climb into his bed after nightmares, or who would get so caught up trying to prove his competence that he would refuse to rest until he fell asleep on Bruce's shoulder on a late night mission, or who would be so angry to find out he was in the fourth percentile of normal height that he would walk on his tiptoes to seem taller.

To Bruce, the man standing in front of him was still his tiny son in need of comforting. Really, he wasn't that far off.

"Hey, shh, baby bird, it's alright now," He said softly, using a long abandoned nickname in this time of need. He didn't notice Dick not making eye contact. He began to move forward and put a hand on Dick's shoulder.

As soon as his hand rested on the boy's arm, Dick practically threw himself backwards, backing up as if he had been burned.

"Don't TOUCH me," He shouted. It was meant to be fierce, but it came out as hoarse and weak and so, so s _cared._

Bruce didn't know what had happened, but he still backed up immediately.

"Dick, what…" He started, but stopped short. Dick was shuddering intensely, and it was clear to Bruce that he was beginning to hyperventilate. His hand went out softly again, but he made no move to touch his son.

"I- I said **DON'T."** Dick cried, trying to move farther back but tripping and falling to the floor instead. His breath was fast and shallow, and Bruce could see his wide eyes in the absence of his mask.

"I said… don't," He choked out, curling in on himself.

Something told Bruce his eldest child wasn't talking to _him._

"Hey, hey, shhh," Bruce said, his tone of voice one that was saved especially for Dick and Dick alone. Saved especially to calm a panicking child. To calm _his_ panicking child. He kneeled at his side.

Dick's breathing was only getting worse, and for a few seconds Bruce thought he may have been injured. Maybe that was the source of the blood - had his lung been punctured?

A quick check showed that, no, that wasn't the case. He wasn't coherent anymore, and Bruce was becoming close to panicked. Was Dick sick? Was he hurt? Had he seen someone fall, had someone died? Would he _be okay?_

"Dick. Dick, breath. Come on. Let's count."

Bruce knew Dick wouldn't catch on immediately, but he reached out to slowly, easily taking his hand and began to count anyways.

"One. Two. Three." He punctuated each letter with a tap on his son's wrist. "Four. Five. Six."

By the time Bruce reached fifteen, he heard tiny, shaky numbers coming out in short breaths from the crumpled figure in front of him. By thirty, they were slightly more solid. By forty, Dick was tapping Bruce's wrist back.

"Okay, son. You're okay." The older man paused, then squeezed the smaller's hand. "Do you want to tell me what happened?"

At this point, Dick had become vacant and unattached. He seemed calm, but Bruce could tell other wise - Dick was never very good at hiding his emotions around his father.

"I told her to stop." He said plainly, his eyes vacantly staring past Bruce. "I told her to stop. I couldn't move, and I-" His breath caught, and his vacant eyes became foggy. "She _touched_ me, Dad, she - she-"

Realization hit Bruce like a rogue bus going off route. Burning, fiery anger was flowing through him, and he wanted to fight - But then Dick was crumpled in his lap, and the older man could do nothing to help. Dick was sobbing incoherently into his father, but even without words Bruce could tell how broken - how utterly afraid and scarred and _hurt_ his oldest, but most fragile son was. His son who put up the toughest act and seemed stronger than steel. Who could be stronger than steel, but broke inside every time something went wrong. His son who blamed himself for everything no matter what.

Today, Bruce wanted to tell Dick not to blame himself. He wanted to tell him how sick it had been of her, how nothing could ever make that okay. How it was alright to feel broken, because Bruce would be sure to break whoever did this to him. He really wanted to tell Dick that everything would be okay.

Instead, he held is boy and petted him, but he didn't tell him everything would be alright.


End file.
